She sits atop my bookshelf. Her long brown hair and light pink dress make her look innocent enough, but those eyes. It's bedtime. Can I move her? Certainly. But she will always pierce the object of her gaze while staring intently at me.
The floor lamp bulbs fade away to reveal a soft, white, merry glow around the shelf. She speaks through tightly pursed red lips. Is it a message of foreboding? Perhaps. She lunges at me. Grabbing an empty medicine bottle, I crush her rosy little face. Then I recall flushing all in a grave attempt to heal myself.
The floor lamp bulbs fade away to reveal a soft, white, merry glow around the shelf. She speaks through tightly pursed red lips. Is it a message of foreboding? Perhaps. She lunges at me. Grabbing an empty medicine bottle, I crush her rosy little face. Then I recall flushing all in a grave attempt to heal myself.
